


Like Electricity, Sparks Inside of Me

by CautionaryTales



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Airport AU, Airports, Enjolras fixes things and Grantaire is both smitten and grateful, Grantaire is a fencer who has awful luck with keeping his foils safe, M/M, partially due to the fact that the security guards he's had to deal with are racist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:37:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2178198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CautionaryTales/pseuds/CautionaryTales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has to remind himself that even attractive people are bound by law, and it’s his job to enforce it.  Especially if said attractive person is a tired, somewhat disgruntled fencer who wants to take sharp objects onto the plane.  Although Enjolras is just a security guard for a small airline company, he is occasionally capable of working miracles and getting a date out of it, to boot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Electricity, Sparks Inside of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following anonymous prompt:
> 
> "shipfic with person a as a customs officer and person b as a traveler caught with something weird in their bag. I made this with exR in mind but I suppose it works for anything"
> 
> A giant thank you to lartenluver for editing, you’re an awesome beta. :) As always, I’m giving a shout out to enjolgay who is the reason that I’m writing. Thanks to the anon who sent me this prompt, as well, I had a lot of fun writing this.

“Sir, I’m afraid I can’t permit you to board the plane with this baggage.”

“What?  That’s bullshit.”

Enjolras feels himself purse his lips and he hates it because he knows it makes him look surly and prim, but he can’t help himself.  He’s been standing behind a conveyor belt for hours, listening to rain patter on the roof, and watching x-rays of bags scroll across a screen that looks like it belongs in the 90s.  Rude travelers aren’t really on his list of people that he is willing to deal with pleasantly right now.  Unfortunately, he has to try to make room beside his ever-growing annoyance, because that’s his job.  

Being a security guard for Porter Airlines isn’t all that bad, they’re great employers and Enjolras gets to spend his days protecting his fellow Canadians, allowing them to travel safely as is their right.  He’s also been able to stop quite a few people who think that hiding drugs in the hollow sides of a Crock Pot is intelligent smuggling.  Enjolras had the opportunity to very concisely inform them that it is not, and that there are consequences for breaking laws. 

He pulls himself back to the situation at hand with some difficulty - stopping his mind from wandering becomes exponentially more difficult as the hours pass - and faces the man in front of him squarely.  The man with dark curly hair and a shadow that just lines his jaw.  Enjolras takes this moment to remind himself that no matter how attractive this stranger is, he’s subject to the same laws as everyone else.

“You aren’t allowed to bring sharp objects in your carry-on bag including, but not limited to, knives, ice picks, meat cleavers, and, unfortunately for you, swords,” Enjolras informs the man, his voice taking on a deadpan quality as he lists some of the most arbitrary prohibited items he can think of.  Despite his stony expression, he’s laughing inside.  He promises that he is, somewhere deep, deep, down.  

The man’s mouth twitches upward briefly before his face clouds over again and he begins gesturing wildly at the bag in question.  “Swords?  They’re fucking foils, for fencing.  Do you know what happens when you fence?  You stab people and there’s no blood because the foils aren’t fucking sharp.”

Enjolras sighs, “I know that they aren’t, but they’re still viewed as a weapon by our guidelines, so you need to board them as luggage.”

“I can’t do that,” the man’s voice has taken on a desperate edge.  

He takes his dark green beanie off and runs his free hand through his thick, black curls.  Enjolras almost feels sorry for him, but it’s his job and this man can’t be an exception, no matter how upset he is.  

“I’m sorry, but you need to if you want to fly on our plane”

“ No, you don’t understand,” the man protests.  “While I was flying here from New York, I was pulled aside for a ‘random’ security check and it was decided that I was dangerous.  The guards took away my good foils so I had to get new ones when I got to Ottawa, and those were put in with the rest of the luggage, in a separate, labelled bag, only to get destroyed on the way.  This is the last pair I can afford, my padded bags are already checked in, and I just want to get them to the tournament in one piece.   _ Please _ .”

Enjolras isn’t quite sure how to respond to the tirade of unfortunate events that have plagued this stranger’s trips, but a white hot rage settles in his stomach as he realizes the gravity of the man’s first sentence.  Even now, the other security guards are eyeing the man’s dark skin with obvious suspicion even as they let white travellers through without a second glance.  With Enjolras’ pale pallor and white-blonde curls, he knows that this man expects the same from him, and Enjolras quite frankly can’t blame him.  

After a brief glance toward the plastic flaps that cover the entrance to the baggage hold, his mind lights up with a solution.  “What’s your name?”

“My- Uh, Grantaire.”

Enjolras takes a second to confirm the spelling, duck under a series of ropes, and then proceeds toward a door marked  _ employees only _ . 

“Wait,” the man, Grantaire, blurts out before Enjolras can disappear into the room.  “My, uh, my bags don’t really have my name on them.”

“Okay, how can I find them?”

A smile breaks out across Grantaire’s previously disgruntled expression as he begins to work through what Enjolras is doing.  “They’re dark green with black zippers, and have tags attached that say ‘R’ on them.”

“R?”

“Pun.”

“Oh, nice.”  Enjolras can’t help but chuckle good naturedly before letting the door swing shut behind him.  

A little less than five minutes later, he returns with Grantaire’s bags in tow.  “Okay, it looks like this one is long enough to fit the foils properly and it has enough protection that they won’t break.”

A few pairs of socks and a hoodie are removed from the suitcase and Grantaire carefully places his wrapped and secured foils inside, after a brief inspection from Enjolras.  “Do I have to send it through baggage again?  Or…?”

“No,” Enjolras informs him.  “I’ll just bring them in through the side door, your weight still checks out so it’s fine.”

“Is that allowed?”

There’s a moment of silence before Enjolras leans forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Oh, well that was anticlimactic.”

“Would you prefer that I sent them through the scanner a second time?”

Grantaire shakes his head.  “At this point I just want to get on the plane and go home.”

“Then we’re agreed.  You’re good to go through-”

The loudspeaker interrupts Enjolras, echoing loudly in the cavernous space, bouncing off of the grey, speckled walls.   “ _ Flight 276 has been delayed due to poor weather conditions.  Please report to Terminal 8 for more information.  Thank you.” _

At the sound of the clipped voice signing off, Grantaire groans.

“Isn’t that your flight?” Enjolras asks.

“Take a wild fucking guess,” is the response before Grantaire phone starts ringing.  “One second.”

One of Enjolras’ coworkers, Combeferre, approaches to let him know that he’ll be taking over Enjolras’ shift within the next few minutes.  Enjolras thanks him and loosens his tie, ready to find somewhere to get off his aching feet and savour a well-deserved cup of coffee.

“That was the friend I’m flying with.”  Grantaire has returned, looking equal parts hopeful, nervous, and grumpy.  It’s a strange combination to say the least.  “She says that the flight won’t be taking off for another two hours at least,” a crack of thunder punctuates Grantaire’s statement.  

“That’s unfortunate, but at least you don’t have to drive home in this,” Enjolras says as he gestures to the Eastern windows that are being relentlessly pelted with fat drops of water.

“You don’t have to.”

“Don’t have to what?”

“Drive home.  In this weather.”  Grantaire’s brow furrows and he shakes his head.  “Shit, sorry, I meant that you could stay here for a bit, maybe grab something to eat with me while I wait?  If you’re up for it.  I totally understand if you aren’t interested, I mean, I don’t bl-”

“I’d like that,” Enjolras confirms, grinning, and something in the pit of his stomach leaps at the thought of spending time getting to know this attractive stranger.

Grantaire’s returning smile is almost as blinding as the lightning that is skirting across the sky.  “Great, so when do you get off?”

Tossing a quick glance toward Combeferre, who gives him a knowing look, Enjolras says, “Right now, actually.”

“How convenient.”  Grantaire’s laughter is lost in the boom and shake of the building as thunder chases after it’s partner.  

Enjolras removes his badge and vest, placing them in his backpack before hurrying to catch up with Grantaire, who has already started toward the nearest coffee shop.  And if Grantaire reaches out to brush his fingers against Enjolras’, nobody is the wiser.  Only Enjolras feels the spark that courses through him, conducted from a simple touch.

  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be called "Foiled Again" but I decided that I was better that using the first stupid pun that came to mind, and used Billy Elliot instead.  
> There is a joke in there somewhere about physical body searches, where Grantaire insists that if Enjolras wanted him to take his clothes off, he just had to ask. It didn't make it in because that has absolutely nothing to do with where the fic went. So it's in the notes for your appreciation, dear friends.  
> I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot, feel free to tip your friendly neighbourhood fic writer with kudos and comments. :)


End file.
